


Resolve

by umakoo



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reunions, Self-Destructive Behavior, Temporary Character Death, Valhalla, thor is not in a good place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18619783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: Thor gets a chance to visit Loki in Valhalla and finds his will to fight again.Spoilers for The Avengers: Endgame





	Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during The Endgame, right after Rocket and Hulk ask Thor to re-join the team, because I like to think it takes a little more than the promise of beer to get Thor to go along with the big plan. Thor is drunk and his thoughts are dark, but he doesn't actually intentionally take his own life to enter Valhalla if someone is worried about that. But there is **temporary character death** because it's the afterlife. I've only seen the movie once, so apologies if some of the details are wrong. Hugs to Bucky for the beta!

There was no moon in the sky to light Thor’s path as he stumbled down from his porch, the soles of his slippers sliding against the damp earth. Nights on Midgard were darker than they had been back in old Asgard, a stark reminder that he was stuck in the boondocks of a backwater galaxy.

 

He brought his sixteenth bottle of Ringnes to his lips and threw his head back, half of the drink seeping into his beard. At least the mead here wasn't half bad, even if it took a few gallons to get adequately drunk on it. He grunted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossing the bottle into the darkness with a listless shrug.

 

The drink in his head made it difficult to stay upright, but the strain of anxiety brought on by the visit from his friends still had its clutches in his chest, which meant he wasn't drunk enough.

 

Why couldn’t they all just leave him the hel alone and move on with their lives. He’d moved on and he was fine. He _was,_ no matter what Brunnhilde insisted. He’d avenged the dead and there were no more battles left to fight. It was all fine.

 

Only it wasn’t, because the world was still broken. Killing the purple bastard hadn’t fixed anything. He was still alone, everything and everyone he’d loved gone forever.

 

He scratched his thickly bristled cheek and yanked his robe in an attempt to close it over his chest. Perhaps it was better that his family wasn’t around to witness his fall from grace. His brother would certainly have a few choice words for him were he only here.

 

Thor beat his fist against his chest as the familiar sting of loss tore at his heart in spite of the full cask of ale he’d downed earlier. “Loki, you fool. You damn fool,” he wailed, his throat thick with guilt at the memory of Loki's ill-fated act of heroism. 

 

He’d spent the first few years after the Snap traveling the realms, convinced that Loki would show up sooner or later as he had before, Thor just had to be patient.

 

Only he never did, and the day Thor had accepted that his brother was well and truly gone was the last day he’d been sober.

 

The sound of a fog horn in the horizon drew his gaze to the sea, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot as he listened to the waves lapping at the hills below his little hovel. Hypnotic like a siren call, tempting him towards the edge.

 

Thor stumbled forward, the sash of his robe pulling tight as it got caught under his slipper, the world around him tilting on its axis. His face collided with the ground before he even realized he was falling, and his mouth filled with dirt as he went tumbling down the steep hill, his pained grunts echoing in the dark.

 

He’d always assumed he’d fall in battle and enter the afterlife in a blaze of glory. The Faiths, it seemed, had different plans.

 

The world stopped spinning abruptly, the sickening crack of his skull colliding with the rock he liked to brood on echoing in his ears as the sky above Tønsberg spun out of focus.

 

Thor blinked as the veil between life and death was lifted for him, and he found himself in a small grove, the ground beneath him covered in leaves of red and gold. There was bird song in the air and the pain in his skull was no more than a dull ache. Even his senses seemed clear in spite of his previously drunken state.

 

Something around his chest felt tight, though, and glancing down, he realized his earthly garments had been replaced with his armor. He pushed himself to his feet, a couple of the buckles snapping with his exhale as he allowed his gut to press against the plates.

 

It appeared one did not walk into Valhöll in a robe and undergarments.

 

The fabled hall shone in the ethereal light of a nebula Thor had never seen on any star chart. Its towering walls made it more akin to a small city than a mead hall, the tallest spires concealed in celestial mists.

 

Thor turned his gaze to the giant eagle perched on the lofty roof. It lifted its eyes from the feasting masses below and flapped its wings in welcome, the gust of wind rustling the leaves at Thor's feet.

 

Bestla’s tits, was he truly dead, then? Thor barked out a disbelieving laugh. How many times had he wished to find himself in these lands, to be reunited with his family and friends, with _Loki_.

 

He’d challenged the most ferocious beasts in all the realms, had drunk himself to oblivion too many times to count, but all it took was a tiny rock to finally bring him the sweet release of death.

 

There was a spring in his step as followed the paved path out of the grove, the massive doors of Valgrind already visible over the treetops. He approached the gate, ready to join the revelries and seek out his family, but a sudden sound of waves in his ears made him halt.

 

Someone called his name, the sound muffled like it was trying to reach him across time and space.

 

_Oi, Thor! You alright, man?_

 

Thor frowned. Was that Korg?

 

_You takin’ a little nap there?_

 

Perhaps he was not as dead as he’d hoped, because that was definitely Korg.

 

“Oh no…”

 

The realization that his time in Valhöll could be limited kicked Thor into action, and he rushed out of the woods, the plates of his armor creaking as he stumbled towards the death-gate. The Valkyries who kept watch by the towering doors saluted him, their eyes wide with surprise as they recognized their former prince.

 

“My lord Thor, we welcome you to Valhöll, to your father’s hall,” one of them said, striking her spear against the ground. “We- we did not expect you so soon. How did you fall, my lord? In glorious battle?”

 

Thor leaned against his knees as he caught his breath. “Fell on my drunken arse and hit my head on a rock,” he panted.

 

The Valkyries watched him from the shadows of their helmets, the disbelief on their faces giving way to amusement as they burst out laughing.

 

“You almost had us fooled, my lord,” they said in unison, their chest plates shaking with their laughter.

 

Thor shifted his eyes to the side and scratched his neck. “Aye… Just a little jest,” he nodded, his smile awkward as he stepped through the gate. He'd been certain he couldn't sink any lower than his ale-laden existence of guilt and regret, but even his death appeared to be a farce. He hoped the Norns were entertained, at least.

 

Odin’s halls were vast, the merrymaking from a thousand eternal feasts filling the air as Thor pushed through the crowd of Einherjar in the courtyard. There were familiar faces in the crowd, childhood heroes and legendary warriors Thor had dreamed of meeting on the battlefield, but if his time was as limited as he feared, there was only one person he wished to reunite with.

 

He ran his fingers down the length of his braided beard as he wondered where he might find his ever elusive brother.

 

Not in the grand hall where his father sat with a horn of mead in his hand, surrounded by the bravest of his warriors. And not in the tavern by the cosmic shore where Thor glimpsed his three dear friends, gathered together for good ale and stories of their past adventures. He recognized his mother’s rune in the colorful tapestries that hung on the walls near a small pond, heard the sound of her loom behind a pair of gilded doors, and he knew he was on the right path.

 

_Come on, wake up, Highness._

 

Thor ignored Brunnhilde’s call and let his feet take him to a small, secluded garden, far from prying eyes and the feasting masses. And there, seated on a bench just outside of Frigga's chamber was Loki, his nose stuck in a book, a glass of wine balanced between two long fingers.

 

Thor’s lungs seemed to seize at the sight and he had to grip the pillar at his side to stay upright.

 

The scene was so perfectly mundane, something Thor had witnessed a thousand times, and he almost felt like he was a mere eight centuries again, intruding on his brother’s private moment to seek out his company.

 

Loki turned the page of his book and brought the glass of wine to his lips, red and delectable.

 

His brother was beautiful, all traces of his hardships in life erased from his face, the plates of his finest armor shining with eternal starlight. It had been over a decade since Thor had seen him so at peace, the knowledge that Loki appeared happy in the afterlife making the pain of his loss a fraction more bearable.

 

Thor was almost loathe to disturb him, but his love for Loki had always been an intense, greedy thing, and it drove him to clear his throat.

 

Loki blinked at the sound, a dark curl escaping the finely-oiled coif of his hair as he turned his face towards the archway where Thor stood spying on him.

 

It wasn’t the sound of breaking glass that made Thor startle, but the feel of his brother’s eyes boring into him in horror-laden shock.

 

“ _Thor_?” The book on Loki’s lap fell to the ground as he shot up to his feet, broken glass crunching under his boots as he rushed to close the distance between them. “How are you here?!”

 

Thor failed to hold back the whimper that forced its way past his lips as Loki cupped his face, his palms as warm and solid as they had been in life.

 

“Loki, I-” Thor gasped, reaching up to bury his own hands into his brother’s dark tresses. “I’ve missed you terribly,” was all he could manage to get out over the strain in his throat.

 

Loki’s eyes shone with unshed tears, the slant of his brows distressed. He dropped his hands to clutch at the velvet of Thor’s cape and shook his head in stunned disbelief. “You can’t be here. It can’t be your time, not yet.” He stumbled back to take in Thor’s appearance, his eyes roaming over the length of his beard and the wide girth of his body, visible even through his straining armor. “Oh, Thor,” Loki sighed, “what happened to you?”

 

Thor flushed and looked away, suddenly self-conscious “I, uh, I may have developed a taste for Midgardian spirits,” he said with a sheepish smile, but hiding behind a mask of laughter rarely worked these days. “Their cuisine isn’t bad either, and you know I’ve always been an emotional eater.”

 

Loki cupped his cheek with a gentle hand and forced Thor to meet his eyes. He shook his head, his eyes fond. “That’s not what I meant.” He stroked his thumb along Thor’s cheekbone, tracing the scar under his mechanical eye, his gaze lingering on the dark circles that framed his sockets. “Why do you hurt?”

 

Thor shivered at the simple show of affection, something inside him crumbling at the question. “Why?” he croaked, clasping his hand behind Loki’s neck. “Because I’m a failure, brother. Because I can’t do any of it, can’t fight, can’t lead-”

 

Loki pursed his mouth, his tone gently scolding. “Self-pity does not become you, brother.”

 

Thor clutched at the embroidered sleeve of Loki’s jerkin, a trail of salt wetting his cheek. “I can’t _live_ , not without you.”

 

Loki stroked his knuckles over Thor's cheek, ruddy from his excessive drinking. “Of course you can."

 

“No, I can’t,” Thor insisted, blinking at the gentle touch of Loki’s finger as his brother wiped away the tears gathered in his eye. “I’m so tired of mourning and there’s nothing left for me out there, no purpose at all. I failed you, failed our people, failed the entire bloody galaxy.”

 

“Everybody fails,” Loki said, the line of his mouth stern as he fixed Thor with a level gaze. “That does not mean you have to remain a failure for the rest of your days.” He turned his face towards the starry skies above Valhöll, a familiar glint of mischief in his eye. “Nothing is set in stone.”

 

Thor’s mouth parted in a quiet gasp. “Nothing?”

 

Loki didn’t respond, but Thor caught the smile hiding in the dimple in his cheek, and he felt a small spark of something in his heart that he’d believed lost for good: a burst of determination and, perhaps, a little hope.

 

He wound his arm around Loki’s waist and pressed their brows together, drinking in the familiar scent of his brother's perfumed skin. “I miss you more than I can bear,” Thor murmured, the kiss he stole from Loki's lips tart with the lingering taste of wine.

 

“You know I miss you, too,” Loki said, a little breathless, and it appeared such confessions came easier in the afterlife.

 

The sound of waves crashed through his ears again and Thor took a step back, his brow arched as he watched Loki down the length of his nose. “What do you know of time travel? Does it ever work?”

 

Loki’s eyes widened a fraction, a flash of understanding passing over his features. “It just might, if your humans truly are as smart as you claim. It is risky, though.”

 

Thor swallowed, still a little hesitant to let himself hope. “And do you think I might find a way to undo-” He flinched as he felt something strike his cheek, like a smack from a phantom palm.

 

_Thor, wake up!_

 

“No…” He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hold on Loki’s shoulders. “Please, I don’t want to go back.”

 

Loki ran his fingers through Thor’s hair and tucked it behind his ears, his smile resigned. “Thor, you must. It’s not your time, not yet, not like this.”

 

The garden around them began to fade, the veil between life and death lowering once more. Thor clasped Loki's hands in his own, his jaw set. “I promise we’ll be together again, brother. I will set things right, no matter what it takes.”

 

"I know." Loki leaned in, the warmth of his kiss lingering on Thor’s lips as the sharp sting of Brunnhilde’s hand against his cheek brought him back to his senses.

 

“Well it’s about bloody time,” she sighed, her smile relieved and a little exasperated. “I had to use three whole healing stones on that thick skull of yours, you know? One to heal you and two to sober you up.”

 

Thor blinked at her as his mind struggled to make sense of the jarring return to his little hovel. He lay in his bed like a broken marionette, his limbs askew, one of his slippers hanging from his toe.

 

Korg and Miek hovered behind Brunnhilde’s back, the mattress and the floor around Korg full of small pebbles. Miek blinked all six of his eyes and clicked his mandibles nervously.

 

“Miek here was sure we’d lost you for good,” Korg said, a hint of something scolding in his usually soft voice. “You gotta cut back on the beer, bruv. You could tumble into the sea, and Miek and I can’t swim, you know?”

 

“Aye, you’d go straight to the bottom,” Thor agreed, giving his friends a weak laugh. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

 

He brushed his fingers against his lips, his brief reunion with Loki already like a distant dream. His stomach lurched with a burst of anxiety that always followed sobriety, but the newly lit resolve in his heart burned brighter than it had in years.

 

Thor rolled his shoulders and held out his hand, his fingers closing around Stormbreaker’s shaft as it flew to him from a pile of bottles on the other side of the house.

 

Brunnhilde arched her brow at him, something like hope twinkling in her eyes. “Highness? What are you up to?”

 

“Are Hulk and the Rabbit still in the village?”

 

“They are…”

 

“Good,” Thor nodded. He gave the axe an experimentary spin, the weight of it still a little unfamiliar, “because I’m ready for another round and I will not rest until that purple bastard is dust.”

 

*


End file.
